


Be Still

by thefangirlingdead



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Depression, First Kiss, Guilt, Love Confessions, M/M, Memory Loss, PTSD Stiles, Survivor Guilt, and a little bit of fluff thrown in there somewhere, and derek understanding and being there for him, basically stiles trying to deal with the fact that he lived and allison died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1407331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefangirlingdead/pseuds/thefangirlingdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Allison's death, Stiles can't seem to shake the feeling that it was his fault. He feels like a monster, can't look any of his friends in the eye, and finds himself reaching out to the one person who might know what he's going through: Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Still

**Author's Note:**

> _When darkness comes upon you_   
>  _And covers you with fear and shame_   
>  _Be still and know that I'm with you_   
>  _And I will say your name_
> 
> _If terror falls upon your bed_  
>  _And sleep no longer comes_  
>  _Remember all the words I said_  
>  _Be still, be still, and know_  
>  \- [Be Still](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vtp-p7qFI2I) \- The Fray
> 
> A/N:  
> Because nobody can tell me that Stiles doesn't feel terribly guilty about what happened with Allison. And nobody can tell me that he didn't go to Derek for someone to talk to. Okay? Okay.  
> Also, this is a lot longer than I intended for it to be, but I just really like writing these two.

The last thing that Stiles sees before he collapses is Kira's blade piercing through the chest of the Nogitsune - of the copy of himself. The last thing he sees is _himself_ , falling to his knees on the ground, body contorting in awful shapes, and then everything is going black. Everything goes black, and Stiles falls to the ground.

The first thing he sees when he comes to is Lydia, kneeling over him, ever brimming with tears. He goes to sit up and Scott is immediately there to help, even though - Stiles notes - his body already feels significantly lighter and easier to move, as if a large weight has just been taken off of his shoulders. He looks up at his friends - Lydia, Scott, Kira and Isaac - and with wide eyes manages to murmur out. "We're alive? We're all alive?"

Stiles misses the pained look on Scott's face when he replies quietly with, "Yeah. We're all okay."

Aiden dies. He dies and nobody says anything, because what's the right thing to say? They haven't known him long, and for the majority of that time, he wasn't necessarily a _friend,_ but he was an ally, up until the very end. He had been fighting for _them_ when he was killed. They don't say anything, and Stiles holds Lydia as she cries silent tears into his chest.

It isn't until they're almost back at the car - Derek in tow, explaining to Scott that he's going to help Ethan with Aiden - that the question finally bubbles up in Stiles' throat. He's been thinking about it ever since he woke up in the hallway, and maybe it's not the right time to ask it, but he can't help it.

"Where's Allison?" He rasps quietly. His throat feels raw, though he's uncertain why, and only manages to speak softly. Still, at his words, nearly everyone freezes mid-step. Lydia looks up at him from where she stands, helping Scott hold him up, and when he makes eye contact with her, she promptly looks away. And when he looks to Scott for an answer, his best friend simply stares straight ahead, not even sparing him a glance.

Something in the back of his mind, tells Stiles that he shouldn't have asked the question, but he couldn't help it. Allison's always been there, at their side, fighting, so where was she now? He almost opens his mouth to say something else - _is she okay? -_ but ultimately it's Derek who finally answers him with a short, quiet, "She's not here."

And while that answer only makes Stiles want to pry more - _yes, I can see that, but where is she?_ \- he takes it as a hint not to say anything else and to just let it be.

The car ride home only makes things worse. Nobody says a word as they pile into Lydia's car, letting Stiles take the front seat. And nobody says a word as she drops Scott off at home. Nobody even says a word when she leaves Isaac with Chris Argent, and _that_ worries Stiles. It worries him, because in the silence, he has time to think. He's alone with his thoughts, and as he allows himself to go over the events of the past few days in his head, he realizes that some parts of his memory are blank. That, even though he hadn't been possessed by the Nogitsune for almost three days, now, there's still hour-long gaps in his memory like there had been before, as if he were still losing time.

He remembers Scott taking him to his dad, and he remembers Melissa looking him over, making sure he was okay, but after that, he draws a blank. He even remembers bits and pieces of the ride to go save Lydia, but he doesn't remember _anything_ of what happened that night. He doesn't remember how they found her, and he doesn't remember how they got out of there alive.

And _that_ more than anything, scares him. The vacant looks on his friend's faces scare him. The way they'd all frozen when he'd mentioned Allison terrifies him.

When Lydia pulls her car to a stop outside of his house, Stiles hesitates before getting out. He pauses, hand halfway to the door and turns to look at her, eyes narrowed in concern.

"Lydia?" He asks softly, but even at his quiet words, he doesn't miss the way she flinches at his voice.

She tears her eyes away from the road ahead of her, sparing Stiles a glance. "Yeah?"

"What's going on?"

It's a loaded question, and maybe he should elaborate -

_What's going on? Why don't I remember anything? Where's Allison? Why wasn't she there tonight? Is she alright? Are you alright?_

\- he can't bring himself to. He doesn't know what to say first, so he lets the silence hang over them until Lydia is speaking again.

"You don't remember, do you?" She asks quietly, and when Stiles really looks at her, he can tell that she's fighting back tears. The sight scares him - Lydia's always been so _strong -_ so he doesn't answer her question. Instead, he asks again-

"Lydia, what happened?"

And at those words, the tears spill over, sliding quickly and silently down her cheeks.

"Stiles, Allison is _dead_."

* * *

 

He barely makes it three steps through his front door before Stiles is collapsing to his knees and into his father's arms. And thankfully, the Sheriff doesn't ask any questions. He just holds Stiles and lets him cry into his chest, taking sobbing, heaving breaths and clutching onto his arm. 

_Allison is dead._

She's dead. Gone. She's never coming back, and Stiles can't even seem to remember how it happened. Every time he tries, he draws a blank. He doesn't remember Lydia hauling him up to his feet, leading him out of the building and into the courtyard. He doesn't remember the talk that Chris had given them, explaining what to say when the police came.

Thankfully, he doesn't remember the way that his body had weakened, strengthening the Nogitsune when the blade had pierced through Allison.

Still, it doesn't change the aching feeling in the pit of his chest that it's his fault. Nobody had to say anything - the way they'd looked at him when he'd asked about Allison said it all. It _was_ the Nogitsune who had killed her, and regardless of if they blamed him or not, Stiles can't help but feel like it's his fault.

Stiles cries until he's exhausted that night, allowing his dad to carry him into his room. He cries until there's no more tears left to cry, and then he cries more, until his chest is aching and empty and his head is throbbing. Until he's too exhausted to stay awake and finally falls into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

A week goes by, and the memory loss doesn't get much better. Some days _are_ better than others, though. Some days, he'll wake up and - unfortunately - he'll remember bits and pieces of things that he didn't before. He'll remember Scott's form slumped over Allison's body, cradling her head. Or he'll remember the ride to the high school the next night - how somber everyone had looked. He'll remember how willing to die he had been. 

And then other days, he wakes up drawing a blank. Other days, he wakes up, and the last thing he remembers is lying in a hospital bed, Scott's mom hovering over him and watching him with concerned eyes. Other days, he doesn't even remember the Nogitsune. But then he steps out of his room and his dad gives him _that look_ \- that he's fragile, something breakable - and it all comes rushing back.

With each day that goes by, Stiles remembers more.

The worst days are when Stiles remembers things that he _didn't_ do. Those days, he closes his eyes and sees his body moving under the power of someone else. He remembers the Nogitsune using his body to move, to kill an Oni, to hurt someone. Those are the worst days. Those days, he can't even seem to look at himself in the mirror, for fear of seeing a monster looking back at him.

And the worst part is, there's nothing he can do about it, but wait it out and try to sleep it off. He talks to Melissa about it, but she's only so much help - there obviously aren't any studies of a Nogitsune's effect on the human body. And he goes to Kira's mother for help, but doesn't find much there. Obviously, there aren't many instances of a human surviving something like this.

The worst part is the _looks_ that Stiles still receives, even from his friends. He tries not to take them personally - he knows that they're all still healing, too - but it's difficult. It's difficult, especially when Lydia jumps whenever he moves to quickly around her, or when Scott winces if he talks too loud. It's hard, when he catches Isaac watching him, as if he's going to snap at any moment. As if he's a monster.

He knows they don't mean it, but it's hard and his chest feels heavy whenever he catches his friends acting weary around him.

A week goes by, and Stiles can't help but feel awfully and terribly alone. He doesn't want to risk bringing Allison up around his friends - or even his _father_ \- but he's a kid too, _damn it._ He just lost one of his best friends, too, and he needs to talk about it. He needs someone to confide in, someone to comfort him, but it's hard, especially when everyone keeps looking at him like he's about to snap.

So maybe that's how Stiles finds himself knocking on Derek's door a little over a week after _everything_ happens.

Stiles stands on the other side of the door after he knocks, wringing his hands together, adrenaline running through his body. He hasn't really seen Derek since their last meeting at the high school over a week ago - a week since Derek had been the only one to say something when Stiles had asked about Allison - and he can't help but feel a little bit anxious. While he and Derek haven't always had the best relationship, they've gotten a little closer over the past few months, and he'd been the _only_ person to answer his question, instead of just freezing or staring at him with wide, worried eyes. Stiles decides that's the reason why he ends up at Derek's. Because if anyone can even _attempt_ to understand how he feels - if there’s anyone who wouldn’t look at him like he’s a monster - it would be Derek.

So he stands on the other side of the door, seconds dragging on into what seems like hours, heart thrumming in his chest, before Derek finally opens it. And while Stiles is certain that he smelled him - or heard his heart hammering in his chest - Derek still looks somewhat surprised when he looks down at him.

Stiles doesn't realize that he's just standing there, eyes wide, staring into Derek's chest, until the other man's voice - tinged with concern - snaps him out of it.

"Stiles?"

He looks up at that, eyes meeting Derek’s, and suddenly feels a little embarrassed for showing up out of the blue like this. He has Derek's number. He could have easily just called him, but instead Stiles finds himself standing awkwardly on his doorstep, hands still wringing together, anxious. If he's being honest, maybe he just wanted to get out of his house, away from his father's worried glances and away from his own haunting thoughts and fleeting memories.

Stiles realizes that Derek is still looking down at him, eyes worried, and shakes himself out of it quickly. "Sorry," He mutters, looking down ,"I just didn't know where else to go." His own voice sounds empty in his ears, reminiscent of the Nogitusne's voice in his own head. He shudders.

"Are you okay?" Derek asks in return, taking a step forward. Silently, Stiles is grateful that he isn't scared to get close to him, unlike everyone else, but it only makes him feel a _little_ bit better. At the question, he suddenly realizes how very _not_ okay he really is. He hasn't been sleeping much, he can't even look his best friend in the eyes, and he's pretty certain that his own father still has issues trusting him completely. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees darkness. Nothing. Void. And while the Nogitsune is long gone, the figurative scar that it left behind feels very real to Stiles.

He jerks his head back and forth, crossing his arms in front of his chest in an attempt to warm himself up and chokes out a short laugh, dry and humorless. "No. No, I'm not."

Derek steps aside at that, eyebrows pulling together in concern, and motions for Stiles to step into his loft. And while part of Stiles doesn't want to move - he doesn't want to taint yet _another_ person's life with his problems - he follows Derek, allowing him to slide the door closed behind them.

"What's going on?" Derek asks as soon as the door is shut and locked. He takes a few steps into his living room, but when he realizes that Stiles isn't following - instead he's frozen still just inside the doorway - he stops and turns around.

"I don't remember anything," Stiles mutters, crossing his arms again. He feels awkward, uncomfortable, and he's certain that Derek can sense it radiating off of him. That only makes him feel worse. He stays in his place just inside the doorway. "Well, I remember bits and pieces, but it's hard to put it all together."

As soon as the words leave Stiles' mouth though, it becomes easier to speak. Maybe it's because of the concerned, eager to understand look that Derek gives him or maybe it's because he's been holding it in for too long, but suddenly, Stiles' thoughts seem to tumble out.

"I can't even talk to any of them about it," He continues, and his throat feels thick as he speaks, as if he's on the verge of tears, "And I know they don't mean to, but they all look at me like I'm some kind of monster..." He scoffs quietly, "Hell, I kind of am..."

Derek takes a step forward, reaching an arm out as if to comfort Stiles, but still stays a few safe feet away, just in case the boy doesn't want to be touched. "You're not a monster, Stiles," He returns softly,

Stiles scoffs again, " _Oh_ , I'm not? Because last time I checked, it's usually the monster who goes around terrorizing the town and racking up a body count. It's the monster who-" His voice is laced with venom - with self-hatred - but he can't help the way his words falter for a second before Stiles is continuing, "It's the monster who kills his own friends."

And for a moment, the look on Derek's face makes Stiles want to die. He's never seen the other man look so concerned, so upset, and part of him hates himself for dumping _this_ on him, too. As if Derek Hale, of all people, didn't have enough shit to worry about.

"You didn't kill Allison," He replies, cutting Stiles self-deprecating thoughts short, however, "The Nogitsune did."

Allison. _Allison, Allison, Allison._

The name echoes around in Stiles' head, an empty reminder of what happened only a short week ago. Of what he'd _done_ only a week ago. His knees suddenly feel weak, stomach sick.

Stiles notices that Derek takes another step forward before he speaks again, swallowing the bile in his throat.

"Then why does it feel like I did?" He asks, tone bitter, "Why, when I close my eyes, do I see her dying right in front of me? I wasn't there, but _he_ was. So who's to say that he wasn't a part of me?"

And it's true. While Stiles doesn't remember much of the time he was possessed, he does recall bits and pieces, some more than others sometimes. Other times, he'll close his eyes, and he can _see_ the Nogitsune using his body. He can feel his limbs, his mouth, moving without his permission. The memories make him sick.

Suddenly, Derek is close to him, and Stiles flinches when he reaches out a hand, touching his shoulder softly. "You didn't do this, Stiles," Derek assures softly, "Take it from someone who's lived their entire life blaming themselves for something that was out of their control. This isn't on you."

"But-"

"No," Derek argues back before Stiles has a chance to say anything, "It wasn't you. You know it, and I know it. Your friends do, too."

And despite his kind words and his understanding tone, Stiles shakes his head back and forth sharply. "Maybe if I could have been stronger, like Scott and Allison... If I hadn't been so weak, I-"

"You mean if you hadn't been weak after _risking your life_ to save your father? And Chris _and_ Melissa?" Derek counters, "You cannot blame yourself for this."

"Well it didn't choose Scott or Allison," Stiles mutters in return, "So that's saying _something_."

"If anything, it says you're _normal_ , Stiles," Derek argues softly, "You can't help what happened."

Stiles continues to shake his head back and forth. "I just... Sometimes I close my eyes, and I remember bits and pieces," He murmurs, "I remember the Nogitsune killing people and using my body and I feel what _it_ felt and-"

And at that, Derek silences Stiles by grabbing his other shoulder and pulling him forward for a sudden hug. It catches Stiles off guard and effectively silences him, and he can't help the way that he relaxes slightly into Derek's embrace, allowing the other man to comfort him. Because maybe that's all he needed. Maybe he just needed someone to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that he was _normal_. Maybe he just needed someone to hug him.

Stiles finds himself leaning into the touch, his face resting on Derek's shoulder, arms wrapping around his middle, and for a moment, it's silent. For a moment, it's just the two of them and Stiles’ quiet, sharp breaths as he attempts to hold back tears. Because while this is nice, he _refuses_ to cry on Derek's shoulder, god damn it.

When they pull apart however, the look on Derek's face is almost enough to draw the tears from Stiles’ eyes. The look almost reminds him of the ones his own father has been giving him from across the dinner table or down the hallway lately, only there's something _more_. Stiles can't quite place his finger on it, but it helps still the pounding in his chest, rather than making it worse. It helps calm him a little.

Stiles clears his throat after a long, quiet moment, averting his eyes and shuffling his feet awkwardly. "Sorry. About this. I should probably be getting home-"

"Stay," Derek interrupts before he has the chance to say anything else, effectively cutting Stiles' thoughts short. "Stay here," He adds, "It's getting late, and I'd rather you _not_ drive home in this state."

"Derek, I'm fine-"

"You look like you haven't slept in weeks," Derek counters, and it's not a lie, "Stay here. I'll let your father know where you are."

Stiles narrows his eyes. While he appreciates the offer - and Derek is right, he probably shouldn't be driving home so exhausted - he's not sure what his dad would think of him staying somewhere other than _home_ right now...

"Are you sure?"

"Certain," Derek assures, "You can take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

And while Stiles wants to argue - he really should be getting home - his eyes feel heavy and his body feels exhausted and _sleep_ sounds pretty good right about now. Besides, he's certain that Derek probably has a pretty large, comfortable bed. So he nods sleepily, "Yeah. Alright."

Stiles wakes up screaming that night.

While Derek's hospitality is surprising and welcomed, and while his bed _is_ big and warm, it doesn't stop the nightmares. It doesn't stop the awful memories - both of the past few weeks and of the Nogitsune's past life - from surfacing once he falls asleep.

He doesn't mean for it to happen, but that doesn't change the fact that it does. That doesn't change the fact that Stiles wakes in the middle of the night, scream ripping from his throat, fingers clutching onto Derek's sheets.

And to Stiles' surprise, Derek is up the stairs and running into the bedroom within seconds. Without hesitation, he's climbing quickly into the bed, wrapping his arms around Stiles' shoulders and trying to calm him. Even through the screams, Derek stays, holding onto him gently, trying to bring him down.

" _You're alright_ ," His voice reaches out, calm and collected, if not still a little half-asleep, "Stiles, listen to me, you're alright. I'm right here. It's just a dream."

Derek holds him, speaking in soft tones, waiting until he calms down for the better part of five minutes, and by the time Stiles' hands stop shaking - by the time his throat feels raw from screaming - he's still there. "You're alright," He repeats, voice soothing as he slowly loosens his grip around Stiles, "It was just a dream."

Stiles shakes his head back and forth at that. He feels cold and clammy, sweat sticking to his skin in a damp, thick sheet, and distantly he aches for Derek's warm arms around him again. But he shakes his head back and forth, despite his comforting words. "They were _memories,"_ He rasps, voice weak, "Not a dream."

"Then think of something else," Derek replies without even so much as missing a beat, "You have better memories, think of something _good_."

And while distantly, Stiles finds himself wondering how Derek is so good at this - _is it because he's had nightmares about his family? -_ he tries to listen. " _Like what?_ "He breaths, because through all of his dark, clouded nightmares and memories, he can't even _think_ of anything _good._ "Derek, I don't - I can't -"

"Your mom," Derek replies immediately, cutting Stiles off before he throws himself into a panic attack, "What was your mom like?"

Stiles sucks in a deep gasp, then another. He closes his eyes, hands reaching up, fingers wrapping around Derek's wrists, and lets warm memories flood his head. Surprisingly, Derek's words work. In place of the darkness and the fear and the terrifying images, Stiles sees his mother. He sees her before everything happened - before she had been confined to a hospital bed. He sees her standing in the kitchen, warm Sunday morning light shining in through the window, casting white light around the memory, the brightness outshining the dark. He sees her smile, hears her laugh.

"She was beautiful," Stiles rasps, fingers still clutching hard onto Derek's wrists. The other man doesn't shy away from it, though, doesn't wince from the pain. Instead he nods, waiting for him to go on. "And funny," He murmurs with a small smile, "She let me get away with a lot. Way more than my dad would."

"Keep going," Derek murmurs, voice quiet, like background noise in Stiles' memories.

"There was this one time," Stiles starts, recalling the memory fondly, "I kept begging my dad for ice cream after dinner, and he wouldn't let me have any, so she sneaked me some when he was asleep."

He laughs, "But she forgot to put it back in the freezer and my dad found it melted all over the kitchen the next morning. It was so funny that he couldn’t - he couldn't even bring himself to be mad..." Stiles trails off at that, opening his eyes. By the time the memory fades away and he's back in the present - in Derek's dimly lit bedroom, sitting in Derek's bed with _Derek's_ arms around him - he almost forgets why he had been talking about his mom. _Almost._

Stiles loosens his grip around Derek's wrists at that and turns to look at the man behind him, and in return, Derek lets his own arms fall to his sides, freeing Stiles. It's quiet for a moment as he stares up at him, searching his eyes for something - _how did he know how to do that?_ \- before he manages a small, tentative smile.

"Thank you," Stiles breaths softly, watching as Derek stands at the bedside.

Derek nods, "Of course. Do you feel better?"

And while Stiles knows that he has _miles_ to go before he ever really _feels better_ , he nods. "Yeah."

"Good," Derek replies, short, sweet. He turns to go at that, leaving Stiles alone in his bedroom, to leave things be, but Stiles speaks up again before he even gets to the doorway.

"Derek?"

He turns, "Yeah?"

"Can you stay?" He mutters. And while part of him wants to be ashamed for asking - he should figure out how to deal with this on his _own_ , damn it - Derek has been the only person not to shy away from him like he's some kind of monster. Derek's been the only person who even seems to _remotely_ understand what he's going though. And even if he doesn't really understand, his presence helps. And while Stiles isn't really one to ask for help, he could use some right about now. "Just for a little bit?"

Derek spares him a long, quiet glance - and maybe he's weighing out his options in his head - before he's nodding, taking a step back into the bedroom. "Yeah," He murmurs, voice soft, comforting, "As long as you need."

And it's not like they're cuddling. It's not like Stiles wants the excuse to sleep in the same bed as Derek - not that he hasn't _thought_ about it before - but right now, he just needs someone. He needs a warm body next to his own to remind him that _this is real_. He needs Derek's comforting words and his gentle demeanor. Because everyone else knows what he's going through, but they don't really _know._ Not how Derek knows. And they tell him that they want to help, but they _can't_. Not as much as Derek has in just one night.

So Stiles finds himself lying awake well into the night in Derek's bed, his body under the covers, Derek's above. And they don't really talk much, but even his presence seems to make things a little bit better.

Before long, Stiles' eyes start to feel heavy, and when he closes him, there's still that darkness - that void - but it's not as bad as it had been before. There's a spark of light in there now, the memory of his mother, and he holds onto it for dear life.

"Derek?" He finds himself murmuring out just before he lets himself fall into unconsciousness, voice sleepy.

"Hmm?" Comes the response next to him, tired but conscious.

He stares up at the ceiling. "Do you miss your mom?"

It's silent for a moment in return, and some part of Stiles wonders if he's crossed some kind of line - he starts to panic - before Derek replies, soft and sure. "All the time."

* * *

 

Staying at Derek's house slowly starts to become a routine for Stiles. 

The morning after the first night, he accepts a cup of coffee from Derek after he wakes, then decides to make his way home, insisting that his father is probably worried about him. But after Stiles leaves, it only takes two days before he's knocking on Derek's door again, anxious and scared and in need of a hug or some reassuring words or _something._

And slowly, over time, it becomes a routine. While Stiles still sees Scott and Lydia and Isaac, he sees them less than he used to, and part of him decides that it may be a good thing. Because while he knows that they don't mean to act differently around him, they still do, and he decides that they need their space. Because everyone has their own way of healing, and he shouldn't get in the way of that process.

Stiles way of healing lands him at Derek's house more often than not. In fact, he finds himself in the other man's loft more and more often over the coming weeks and even months.

Derek purchases a television one afternoon, and when Stiles shows up at his door that evening, it's with a bundle of DVD's balanced in one arm and a pizza in the other hand. "My dad saw you at the store," He explains taking a few steps inside to set everything down, "And I figured that the last time you owned a television was probably _before_ DVD's were a thing, so I decided to bring some movies over. And pizza. If that's okay."

Derek laughs. "Yeah. Thank you."

So it becomes a routine. The school year ends and Stiles notices that Scott and Lydia's pitying and worried glances seem to lessen - they seem a little more at ease around him - but he still feels that _weight_. He'd still rather stay at Derek's most nights, than spend the evening at Scotts, trying not to say the wrong thing, trying to avoid any tender subjects. Trying to mask the pain in his chest when he notices - looking over Scott's shoulder one afternoon - that his username on his laptop is still _Allison_.

He finds himself at Derek's more often than not, as spring fades into summer and it becomes nice enough to open up the windows in the loft and let some air in. Because it's just _easier_ to be around Derek. Derek, who doesn't look at him like he's broken. Who's _never_ looked at him like he's some kind of monster. No, Derek looks at him like he always has, and somehow, that's comforting.

Stiles isn't certain when exactly he falls into the routine. One day, it's awkward glances and hurrying out of Derek's loft in the morning, insisting that his dad must be worried, and the next, it's showing up at his door with takeout or the newest _Hunger Games_ movie, trying to convince Derek that _they're really good movies, you just have to watch them._

No, he can't pinpoint exactly how it happened. How it became so easy to be around Derek. He's not certain how it ended up this way - how he's able to sit on his couch, watching movies and joking around like old friends, or how he's able to tell Derek about everything going on in his head, _all of his fears and memories_ \- it just _happened_.

Stiles doesn't know how it ended up this way, but one summer morning, he finds himself waking up in Derek's bed - as he does more often than not, nowadays - the man's arm draped around his waist, light filtering in through the window. And for a moment, he lets himself lay there, because it feels comforting. And he's uncertain as to when things turned into _this_ but it's not a bad feeling.

And then suddenly, it is. Suddenly, he feels uneasy, lying in Derek's bed, with _Derek's_ arm around his waist. Because though it's been months, he still wakes up screaming in the middle of the night more often than not, and Derek still rushes in to comfort him, staying the night next to him just to make sure that he's okay. Suddenly, he can't help but feel like a burden because he had just _shown up_ on Derek's doorstep months ago and had just _expected_ him to know what to say - to know what to do. And while he's thanked Derek countless times, he can't help but feel terrible, because these are _his_ problems, not Derek's.

Because he still has nightmares almost every single night, and as much as Derek tries - as much as he helps at the time - nothing has changed. Stiles can still feel the invisible puckered scar that the Nogitsune left in his mind - in his _heart_ \- and no number of sleepless nights at Derek's house have been able to fix that.

And while it feels _good_ having someone to talk to - someone who seems to understand - he also suddenly feels terrible for dragging Derek into this whole mess with him.

Hell, Derek had been prepared to leave Beacon Hills behind for good a few months ago. Who's to say he wouldn't have left if Stiles hadn't shown up on his doorstep that night?

Stiles finds himself sitting up abruptly at that thought, easily pulling away from Derek's arm - the one that had still been draped around his waist - and standing up. He grabs his cell phone from the night stand, shoving it in his pocket, and reaches for his hoodie on the floor, beginning to gather his things.

Because suddenly, Stiles feels horribly guilty for dragging yet _another_ person down with him. He's already ruined everyone else - Scott, Lydia, Isaac, Kira, his father, _Allison_ \- enough. He doesn't need to add another name to that list. He doesn't need to drag Derek down with him. Derek, who's probably _so fucking tired_ of Stiles reminding him of his own past mistakes every single time he talks.

Stiles swallows hard, sitting down to pull on his shoes, and that's when he finally hears Derek stir in the bed. "Stiles?" His voice is quiet, sleepy, but definitely concerned, "What are you doing?"

Stiles takes a deep breath, pausing and staring straight ahead, to compose himself. He doesn't want to push Derek away - they're grown pretty close in the past few months - but this is something he has to do. He can't keep dragging him down. "I'm leaving," He mutters.

He feels Derek sit up at that, and rushes to finish tying his shoes. If he's lucky, maybe he can get out of Derek's loft before having to look him in the eye. Before having to see yet _another_ disappointed face.

"Why?" Derek asks as Stiles stands, confusion laced in his voice.

And as much as he doesn't want to, Stiles sighs and turns to look down at him. Derek looks so _human_ , half awake, lying in bed in his clothes from the day before. And while it's a rare sight for anyone to see, Stiles has grown used to it in the past few months. He swallows hard. _This is for the best._

"I need to go," He says, keeping his voice sure and steady, "This isn't good. For me _or_ you."

Derek raises an eyebrow, "What are you talking about?"

And deep down, Stiles realizes that it sounds like he's _breaking up_ with the man. Hell, maybe that's what this is. He doesn't even know _what they are_. "I don't want you to have to take care you me," He chokes out at last, "I need to fix things myself."

And Stiles starts to step away at that, but not before Derek is getting up, standing on the other side of the bed and slowly crossing the room. "Whoa," He says, hands out, "I'm not taking care of you, Stiles. I'm just being your friend."

Stiles shakes his head, taking another couple of steps backward, "Then I don't need you to pity me."

"I'm not pitying you, I'm just trying to help," Derek counters softly, "Where is this coming from?"

He takes a couple of deep breaths, noting how his breath is already starting to come out shaky. Stiles takes a second to try and compose himself. The last thing he needs is to have a panic attack here while he's _trying_ to tell Derek that he doesn't need his help.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this," He admits softly. No matter how much he tries to keep his breathing in check, he can't help the way it starts coming out in short little bursts. He feels his hands shaking at his sides and clenches them into fists.

"It should have been me," Stiles mutters, "Not Allison. Not even Aiden. _Me_."

Derek face softens at that, eyes full of emotion and _oh god_. Stiles closes his eyes, because he recognizes that look. His father, Lydia, Scott, everyone has given him that look and he's _so fucking sick of seeing it._ Like he's some fragile, breakable little thing. Like he's going to snap and do something stupid.

"Don't say that," Comes Derek's quiet response.

Stiles shakes his head. "You can't tell me that it's not true. Allison was so much stronger than me. Than any of us. If anyone ever deserved to _live_ and get out of this town, it was her. Not me."

And while he's uncertain why all of these emotions - why all of these words - are coming forth so suddenly, he can't say that he doesn't think that they're true. Every morning that he wakes up - even the mornings that we wakes at Derek's - he can't help but feel guilty. Because it should be _Allison_ who got to live another day. Not him.

Part of him wishes he would have played into the Nogitsune's trick and killed himself when he had the chance.

Stiles shakes his head again, the movement sharp and jerky. "I can't keep weighing everyone - I can't keep weighing _you_ down, Derek," He mutters, "Before all of this, you wanted to get out of here. Yet here you are, babysitting me because nobody else will, staying in Beacon Hills even though you wanted to put all of this behind you _months_ ago."

"I'm not babysitting you," Derek counters softly.

Stiles scoffs, "The what are you doing?"

"I'm staying for you," He replies easily.

"Wow," Stiles mutters, crossing his arms, "Way to make me feel great about that."

"No, Stiles..." Derek murmurs softly, taking a few more steps forward, almost closing the gap between them. "I'm staying, because I don't want you _for one more minute_ to think that this was your fault. I don't want to think about what would happen if I wasn't here. If I hadn't _been here_ when you knocked on my door."

Stiles opens his mouth to speak, but Derek continues, cutting him off. "If anyone deserves to _live_ and get out of this town, it's you, Stiles. And I'm going to make sure of it."

"Why?" Stiles hears himself mutter in return.

What he doesn't expect, however, is Derek's answer.

"Because I love you."

And for a moment, everything stands still. It sounds cliché, looking back on it, but it's the only way that Stiles feels after he hears those words. For a moment, things seem to freeze. Because he had expected any kind of response, but he hadn't expected _that_.

Because while he's always sort of felt _something_ for Derek - there’s always been something between them - and while he's enjoyed movie nights, cuddling up next to him on the couch, or waking up next to him in the morning, he never expected _that_. Hell, Stiles has never really expected to hear those words directed at him before, especially from _Derek_. Especially now, after everything. _Because how could anyone love him now, after everything that's happened?_

How could anyone look at him and think _love_ after everything he’s done?

Stiles chest feels tight, and he realizes after a few beats of silence, that Derek is just _standing_ there in front of him, as if waiting for a reaction, and he still has yet to give him one. So distantly, Stiles manages to mutter out, "How long?"

When Derek doesn't say anything else, he almost fears that he'll have to elaborate - _how long have you loved me_ \- and he's not certain that he'll be able to utter those words, but thankfully, he speaks. It's soft and easy and if it weren't for all of the thoughts clouding Stiles' mind, he might have laughed at his answer.

"I don't know. A while."

And he can't stop himself before he's muttering out a quiet, " _How?_ "

Because _really_ , how? How could anyone possibly feel _love_ toward him after everything that's happened? In what universe would he ever deserve _love_ after everything that he's done? After all the pain he's caused? And he understands that yeah, Derek hasn't really made the best decisions in the past with his significant others, but this is sort of crossing the line.

Normally, Stiles would probably make a snarky comment about how Derek _keeps_ falling for the bad guy, but once again, he can't bring himself to speak.

"Because _I know you_ , Stiles," Derek replies, and in that moment, Derek's voice is the only thing that matters. In that moment, all of the worries and memories and _nightmares_ in Stiles' head go silent. "I know you," He continues, "And I know your heart. I know that you're trying, and I know how it feels to be where you are. And I know that - when I felt how you felt - the one thing that I needed was _love_."

Stiles opens his mouth to speak, but Derek is cutting him off again.

"And before you say it, no, this isn't out of pity. I've felt it for a while, now. Before all of _this_."

He swallows hard, "So you - you've always-"

"Yeah."

" _Oh._ "

Derek smiles. "Yeah."

"Why haven't you said anything?" Stiles asks softly, after a beat of silence. After he manages to regain composure of himself slightly, shaking himself out of the frozen state that Derek's words had temporarily thrown him into.

"It would have been selfish of me," Derek answers, taking a step forward, "To do that when you needed me."

"I still need you," Stiles admits quietly, "But uh... I wouldn't mind if you were a little bit selfish."

Derek manages a laugh at that. "Yeah?"

Stiles nods, "Yeah. I could use that right about now, I think."

And at Stiles' words, Derek takes another step forward, closing the gap between them. He reaches out, his fingers brushing Stiles' knuckles gently before one hand finds its place on the side of his face, thumb caressing his cheek. Derek leans in close, breath warm against Stiles' lips, but still far enough away to look him in the eyes when he speaks. "You're going to be okay, Stiles," He murmurs softly, "I promise."

And then he’s leaning in, closing the gap between them and pressing his lips to Stiles’. And yeah, maybe it's a little bit selfish, but the feeling of Derek's lips on his own wipes Stiles' mind clean. When he closes his eyes, he sees white, _warm white light_ , instead of the usual dark void and he can't help the way that he presses into Derek at that, reaching for his free hand and intertwining their fingers.

And when they eventually part, breathless and relaxed, Stiles leans into Derek's arms, allowing the other man to envelop him in a hug.

"I think I'm finally starting to believe you," He murmurs softly. Because while things will never go back to the way they were - while things will never be _okay_ again, they can get better. _Stiles_ can get better.


End file.
